Work Text:
Tommy remembers when it was just him. A lone traveler with just his horse, a stark pale figure against the never-ending goldenrod wheat of the world. He slept slumped against the sides of other people’s rust-tinted barns, or up in the leaves of a tree, or hunkered down in someone’s cornfield, praying their lantern lights wouldn’t reach his hiding spot.
His life changed, though, when he met Wilbur. Gone were the silent, lonely nights of just wind whistling. Wilbur filled the once-empty air with his laughter that never seemed to run dry, even when events turned for the worse. He always had a sparkle in his eye and a trick up his sleeve, with his coppery hair blown out by the wind and his raggedy coat trailing behind him like the cape of a king.
Tommy idolized him.
Though they’d just met, Tommy and Wilbur became fast friends. You didn’t meet many people in their line of work as traveling cowhands who wouldn’t immediately stab you in the back if it got them a sliver of a chance at a better life. Despite all odds, Tommy and Wilbur stuck together, and soon, they were inseparable.
Almost like brothers.
“If you could go anywhere, do anything, Tommy, what would you wanna do?” Wilbur questioned him one night by their smoldering fire, staring up at the star-dotted sky. He held his hat beneath his head as a makeshift pillow, and his eyes reflected the stars like wishing pools.
Tommy thought about that question for a long time.
“Well, I’d probably just want a farm, with you. Maybe a sheep, some chickens. Just somewhere peaceful to stay.” Though his job could be fun, riding through the dirt streets with wind in his hair, Tommy hated the constant movement. He could never settle down, catch a break for too long. Even as a simple cowhand, there were always people after him for crimes he didn’t commit (and a couple he did).
Wilbur hummed in response. “I think that’d be nice.”
“Maybe a cow named Henry,” Tommy added, and Wilbur just nodded, a faint smile on his face.
The years passed and the two boys aged. Wilbur got even taller and lankier, to Tommy’s disbelief, and Tommy’s face got more defined, baby fat washed away with the remains of his adventure-filled childhood. Though Tommy was only 17, they were both men now, and their lives reflected it.
Gone were the days of careless travel and easy jobs rounding up cows. New men had bought up farms around the area, and they wanted pesky travelers out of their way. There was a ruthless, up and coming landowner who recently moved in and was said to rule his farms with an iron hand and a cruel whip. His name was Dream.
He owned most of the farms for miles around, save for a few decaying plots with arid soil and collapsing old barns, and he’d driven many a man like Tommy out of his line of work.
Though they now had to fight for any scraps of a job tending cattle or stopping stampedes, Tommy and Wilbur still laughed together. Their canned beans and salted jerky got fewer and further between, but on the rare nights they could afford to stop and gaze into the stars, they shined as bright as ever.
Even with their current situation, they still managed to save whatever they could from their odd jobs, and eventually, they had enough, collected in dried-out cans and fraying saddlebags.
They could buy their own plot of land, and fix it up real nice for the two of them. They were young yet, but longed for the peace of tending their own farm, their own cattle.
Soon, Wilbur approached a rickety old house, the “For Sale” sign sticking out of the cracked mud next to it. Birds circled in the sky above, and the sun beat down harsher than usual. An old man appeared in the doorway, and after a few minutes of negotiation, said the property was theirs.
Tommy could cry.
“We finally got it, Wilbur. Our own farm.”
Wilbur just smiled, and slung his arm around Tommy. The sunset matched the pure hope burning in the younger man’s eyes, something that hadn’t quite shone through in a long while.
This was a new beginning, for both of them.
Tommy had his horse and his new dog, a ratty old thing who loved nothing more than to bark after the sheep. Wilbur had his chickens and his cows, and his horse as well. They were content.
Friends weren’t really an option, what with their farm being completely surrounded by that of Dream’s - impartial lands with only tilling machines roaming the hills. There was, however, Eret, a delivery worker in the countryside, who sold Tommy and Wilbur a view of the outside world, through the Sunday papers and glimpses of bustling towns. They maintained a friendly relationship, exchanging pleasantries every delivery day.
One time, Eret confided in the pair that they, too, hated to see all the land bought up by Dream.
“He walks around the dirt roads in his pristine white hat and boots. He acts like one of us, but those boots of his have never seen the stirrups of a wild horse. Dream’s just a city slicker looking to cash in on these here farms. He doesn’t give a damn what happens after that, to us, to the other cowhands round these parts,” they’d muttered while taking the latest sales out of their horse’s saddlebags.
Wilbur had nodded along, a fire in his eyes. They’d all seen firsthand the ruin that man had caused – every cowhand had, whether it be a friend put out of a job or an overworked horse, collapsed on the side of the road.
There wasn’t much they could do about it anyhow. They kept their heads down, and watered their corn, and fed their chickens. They watched the sunrise each morning, and Tommy would go so far as to say it was peaceful.
Of course, trouble never could stray far from the two of them. Though it seemed utterly undeserved, the devil had his claws sunk into the boys, and his actions are always as confounding as the Lord’s themselves.
The farms in the surrounding area weren’t enough for Dream’s simmering greed. The man wanted more, and the only thing standing in the way between him and total ownership of practically the whole darn county was a small rust-colored barn, and a yellow cornfield filled with the laughter of two boys.
He was going to tear that place to the ground if it killed him.
Tommy was out in the coop, sprinkling seed all over the packed soil as chickens swarmed in a feathery mass, when he heard it. Tires crunched on the soil outside their barn gate, and it wasn’t the old cart Eret sometimes had their horse tug along. It was a sleek, gleaming thing. A modern wonder of white, shiny doors and a harness perfectly fitted to the horse that pulled it.
Out of it stepped Dream, his grin as lifeless as his cart.
“Howdy fellas. What d’y’all say to having a little chat inside your lovely barn here?”
With furtive glances at each other, Wilbur and Tommy stepped inside. Tommy grabbed Wilbur’s hand, and though he’d never admit it, he was gripping the man so hard his knuckles turned bloodless.
Wilbur led them all to a wobbly wooden table in the center of their abode, brushing away some stray hay on the floor.
“Howdy to you too, Dream,” Wilbur eventually responded, after Dream seemed content to survey his surroundings with a faint air of condescension. “What business brings you here?”
“Why, I can’t drop in on a neighbor just to say hello?” he smiled, though his eyes remained still, fixed on the pair across from him.
“Of course, happy to chat with you, I was just making sure they’re weren’t any circumstances in specific that brought you to our little ranch,” answered Wilbur, as sweet and saccharine as the occasion required.
“Well, all I wanted to do was complement the two of y’all on your little farm out here.”
Dream’s emphasis on ‘little’ made Tommy grit his teeth, but he kept his mouth shut, letting Wilbur do the talking.
“I thank you kindly for that. Me and Tommy here have been enjoying our work here properly, what with the chaos around the cities and all.”
“Of course. I’m sure you’ve noticed though, that I’ve taken an interest to this area.”
Wilbur’s eyebrow raised a fraction. “Oh?”
“I’d be willing to offer quite the pretty penny to the both of y’all in return for this little sliver of land here.”
“And why should we have to leave the fields we’ve tilled, the barns we’ve built?” Wilbur remarked, most hints of forced politeness gone from his tone. It did nothing to dispel Dream’s smile, though, which made Tommy’s stomach turn just looking at it.
“You see, I’m trying to run a business here. And the one thing that I just can’t have is stragglers, running around these parts, always up to something.”
We’re just trying to live here, you varmint, Tommy thought bitterly.
“And if we think we’re perfectly content here, and ain’t in need of your city money?”
Dream’s smile finally turned into a real one, eyes crinkling up at the edges as if in silent laughter. He set something down on the table with a thunk, and moved his hand to reveal a shimmering six shooter, the barrel pointed directly at Wilbur.
“I think you’ll find I have ways of... convincing you.”
Dream had given them an ultimatum, in the end. Take the money and get the high hell out of there, or a good old-fashioned duel. Their deadline was the next morning.
They’d yet to come to a decision, though as the sun rose from behind the hills and Tommy looked out at their little farm, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of bittersweetness, as if something inside him knew that today would hold some sort of ending.
“We can’t- we can’t just let him have our farm. We’ve worked too hard for this, Tommy,” Wilbur ranted, fingers tearing through his hair.
“I know,” was all Tommy replied, patting the man on the back to reassure him.
“What do we even do?”
The question wasn’t directed at Tommy, but at the heavens. Wilbur tilted his head up to the sky almost in desperation, a single tear running down his dirt-covered face, and Tommy knew what he had to do.
When Dream arrived again, dust clouds stirring up as he rolled into the lot, he dragged someone out of the cart with him.
Both Tommy and Wilbur stood in shock as Eret was pulled out of the door, bags under their eyes and hair unkempt.
“Without our kindly delivery worker here, I might not have even known the two of y’all were living here!” Dream laughed. “Y’all should thank them, they’ve been really helpful with my business. Who better can rat out the stragglers than a straggler themself?”
Eret’s eyes looked full of sorrow and fear when Tommy looked at them, and he found himself slowly realizing that no, Dream wasn’t lying.
Eret really had betrayed them.
“Anything you wanna say to these two before they’re out of here forever?” Dream goaded.
“I’m-”
“Ah, there’s no need to apologize to them. I’m sure such understanding folks get it, right?” He slapped Eret on the back hard enough to make them flinch sharply, and when Tommy glanced up at Wilbur, his eyes were all burning rage.
“It just... wasn’t meant to be,” Eret eventually said, slowly.
Tommy felt something running down his face, and after a minute, he realized he was crying, hot, wet tears.
He was about to explode, a stick of dynamite left too close to a campfire, a blaze of passionate, fiery, spiteful words shoved into Dream’s face, when suddenly, Wilbur cut him off.
“You said we could get the money and hightail it out of here or duel, Dream. I choose a duel.”
Dream grinned again, that knowing, smug look, as if he’d already won.
Tommy knew that Wilbur was a terrible shot.
“Alright,” Dream laughed. “Ten paces. Eret, how about you count us out?”
The worker swallowed, looking down guiltily, but complied.
One.
Dream laid out the rules. “If you can land a shot on me, no matter if I shoot you, y’all get to keep your pathetic fucking piece of land.”
Two.
Both Wilbur and Dream turned apart from each other.
Three.
Wilbur started walking, not noticing Tommy shadowing him from behind.
Four.
Wilbur grabbed ahold of his prized revolver, the weight a shallow comfort in his hand, and Dream gripped his six shooter with a lazy, almost relaxed stride. He had already seen victory.
Five.
Both men stopped in place, having reached the paces count.
Six.
Wilbur swallowed, and for once, a fear shone in his eyes that Tommy’d never seen before.
Seven.
Tommy made a decision, though really, it was going to end like this all along.
Eight.
Dream started to turn towards Wilbur and Tommy, as if in slow motion.
Nine.
Tommy shoved Wilbur behind him, the movement kicking up dirt and grasshoppers from the long reeds. He snatched Wilbur’s gun from his hands, the thing cold as ice despite the unbearable summer sun, and pointed it forwards.
BANG
Dream keeled over in the grasses, red seeping from a wound on his leg.
“YES!” Wilbur shouted. “I don’t even care that you ambushed me like that, we won, Tommy!”
The glee in his voice faded as he glanced at his friend, his brother.
Tommy lay on the dirt, staining it crimson as blood poured from a gaping hole in his stomach.
He smiled feebly up at Wilbur.
“Don’t forget the cow named Henry, okay, Wilbur?” Tommy said weakly.
“No, no, you’re gonna be there to see him, you will. You’re gonna go down to someone’s ranch with me and pick him out. Not a rescue, one of those fancy ass cows that the city farmers always have, okay?” Tears were streaming down Wilbur’s face by now, though Tommy just looked on with a kind of care in his eyes.
“I love you, okay Wilbur?”
“No, no, Tommy, no, you can’t- you’re gonna be okay, alright? We’re gonna get you all patched up and fine and you’ll be able to feed the chickens again in no time.” Wilbur’s words were said with a kind of frenzy now, a franticness as he held Tommy close to him.
Tommy merely hummed, as Wilbur had all those years ago, and as Wilbur words turned to screaming sobs, the boy in his arms grew very, very still.
Wilbur wished he could say there was a happy ending to this whole tale, one of recovery and brotherhood and canned beans and horses. But, as someone told him in a sentiment long since passed, some things just weren’t meant to be.
Wilbur never left that farm. Not in body or in mind. Not much changed around it, save for a new cow pen with a name scribbled with care on the post, and a large, flat stone with a name etched on it, surrounded by wildflowers.
There would always be a piece of Wilbur missing, now. His brother, his other half, was gone. No more would he see Tommy’s eyes shine in admiration as Wilbur told a particularly perilous tale of his life before they met, no more would he hear the boy sing as he watered the crops.
No more would he have someone to gaze up at the stars with.
Though teeming with life, the farm always felt a little cold, after Tommy’s death.
The sun never felt quite as warm, and the sky never seemed quite as bright as it used to be.
Wilbur got used to it, though.
And he made sure to take good care of the cow, a last wish of a boy who died too young.